


Missed Connections

by elegantanagram (Lir)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Also Featuring: Jade's spiritual presence, Also of a sort, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Craigslist, Crossdressing, Dave and John have not met before, Guest Starring: Rose's knitting efforts, M/M, Missed Connections lost and found, Mistaken Identity, More like mistaken gender, Online Dating, POV Third Person, Romantic Comedy, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lir/pseuds/elegantanagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"He supposes, at least to himself, that he's maybe a little bit enamored. It's not a big deal! He just doesn't see people with that kind of supermodel good looks very often."</i>
</p><p>In which John gets a crush-at-first sight on a cute girl he sees on the street in DC, and handles the crushing disappointment of failing to speak with her by posting a "missed connection" to craigslist. Also in which Dave likes wearing skirts, and browsing craigslist's personals section for laughs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missed Connections

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure, cutesy, tropey sweet romance from beginning to end. It is also the result of [this craigslist missed connections post](http://puu.sh/6wdc1.png) because I saw the words "striking blonde" and "aviator sun glasses" and could not stop from conjuring up Dave Strider.
> 
> What this story will not do: any in-depth and difficult examination of race, gender, or sexuality.
> 
> What this story will do: briefly touch on being of an ethnicity besides the dominant one, include crossdressing, and feature the occurrence of John Egbert finding dudes attractive Not Being A Big Deal (even if he does also like leggy supermodel babe types).
> 
> Sometimes I write things where crossdressing is a deep, psychological, personal issue through which gender and sexuality can be examined. This time we're skipping that and a boy in a skirt is just a boy who likes wearing a skirt. (It does involve Dave being referred to by female pronouns for about 80% of the story, but he is still 100% biological boy.)
> 
> John at one point says he has a subtle bowtie. [This bowtie is not subtle at all](http://puu.sh/6wgFv.jpg) but I can't help imagining it's the one John wears.

-

John is hefting his backpack higher on his shoulders, peering over the heads of the people standing in front of him at the crosswalk in hopes of catching a glimpse of the "walk" signal, when something catches his eye. 

It's a particularly bright flash of platinum blonde hair, peeking out from underneath a slouchy, black knitted hat. The hat is in a floppy beret style, a style John can't help but think looks like the worst kind of shitty hipster garbage. The wisp of bangs, though, is a welcome flash of gold on a cold winter morning. It's hair so fine and pale it makes John think of snow, of ice, but also of a distant warmth, like the lowest flicker of a tiny yellow flame. 

The person's head turns, and John is confronted with huge aviator frames, the dark lenses taking up a ridiculous portion of a sharp-featured face. It's a profile in three-quarters, turned just enough his way for him to get the full effect of a girl's short pageboy haircut, the kind of trim John's cousin tells him is increasingly in style. (To which he always asks her, why doesn't she cut her hair? But she brushes him off every time, unwilling to tame her horrendous bushy mane.) 

She's striking, even with the sunglasses. Her face is stark angles and firm definition of jawline, strong almost to the point of being too much, but complimented by a certain delicacy to high cheekbones and decisive razor-slash of a nose. 

People around John begin walking, and he realizes the streetlights have changed in his favor.

He trots after the crowd, cursing for the millionth time his disappointing lack of height as he wedges through the bodies around him. He can't quite explain it, but he wants a better look at that face. His mystery girl is tall, taller than him by a good half-head, and her quirky little beret is easy to follow through the crowd. John heads for it diligently.

He's on his way to a new internship, and downtown DC is not an area he's yet to familiarize himself with. He got off at the metro stop he was told and has been following the street signs with studied deliberation, but presented with the anomaly of long legs and a pretty face, he's all too quick to hare off in the wrong direction. The crowd thins as other pedestrians turn into doorways or cross onto the next street over, but John follows on the heels of his lovely mystery lady. 

John has to walk fast to keep up, to the point of nearly jogging. Besides having long legs, the woman he's following is walking at a speedy clip. Her hands are at her throat, long-fingered and buried in her thick black scarf, holding it pressed close around her chin. It's easy math to deduce that she's cold; tights, no matter how thick, have to be little protection on such a brisk winter day. He hopes she doesn't get frostbite. They're really nice legs; it would be some kind of awful, horrendous travesty. 

John hasn't thought about what he'll say when he catches her. I like your stupid hipster hat? I think it's really weird that you're wearing sunglasses, do they help with sun glare off the snow in winter? That scarf doesn't look like it's helping enough, how about I warm you up? Wow, any pickup line from him will be lame, so lame, the absolute lamest. This is going to be a disaster.

She's so close, though, no more than two paces ahead of him. He could reach out and tap her on the shoulder, almost. He's nearly close enough, it won't be all that wei-- And then she darts to the right.

It's half a second, but the door opens, she ducks inside, and he's left standing on the sidewalk, weighing whether he wants to graduate from "followed you for two blocks" tier of stalker to full-on "confronting you with declarations of affection inside your workplace." He hesitates a bit too long, and then it's pointless. He would need to catch her in the entranceway and now it's too late. 

He moves closer to the door, though, reading the building's designation. "Center for Strategic and International Studies." That's different.

He shrugs to himself, and turns around. It takes effort to backtrack and find his way down the remaining blocks to the building housing his internship, but he isn't late. John has made a point of prioritizing punctuality. He caught such an early train that without his little detour, he's sure he would have had far too much time to kill. 

-

At lunch, John is still thinking about the girl from that morning.

The thought doesn't leave his mind, plaguing him like a ghost throughout his workday. He remembers her on the train ride home, counting the stops and imagining his mystery girl's narrow waist, the dark skirt that clung close and straight to the length of her thighs, cutting off just above the knee. Those nice legs, long but obviously muscled, so nicely-defined underneath thick black tights.

He supposes, at least to himself, that he's maybe a little bit enamored. It's not a big deal! He just doesn't see people with that kind of supermodel good looks very often!

He hasn't forgotten her still, when he's cooking dinner in his little Virginia-based apartment. He chops and dices and lightly seasons, stir-fries and all the time he's remembering the subtle curve of pale pink lips, so minimal he almost thought it wasn't there. Like a private smile, discreetly hidden save for that tiny tell-tale sign.

Ugh, it's dumb. He's dumb. He's so dumb for getting so hung up on this girl he doesn't even know. It's not that he's never spoken to her and doesn't know the first thing about her personality, it's so bad that he doesn't even know her name. He should give up right now, except there isn't anything to give up on, because nothing happened and he's being stupid.

He wonders if he'll see her again, if he takes the same train, and walks the same route.

It's so stupid, but he can't escape the hopeful little glimmer that even the idea of catching her on his morning commute gives him. He hasn't had a real girlfriend in so long, what, since high school? Maybe it's a little bit sad, but it's only human. It's normal to be attracted to attractive people, even strangers. Right?

Maybe he should talk to Jade.

John sits down at his computer, boots it up and waits for his chat program to log in, but that's even stupider. He can't be running to his cousin with every little idiotic problem that he has. And he can already hear what she'd tell him, in her loud, sharp, usually boisterous voice. He imagines her scolding him, and grins to himself a little. It's familiar and nice; he hasn't seen Jade since he moved to the metropolitan area. DC is far from home, and it's been kind of a long time. 

She's off halfway around the world though, he thinks, so it doesn't matter where in the US he chooses to stay. 

He has his computer waiting at the desktop, though, and even if he doesn't talk to Jade (because it might be ass o'clock in the morning where she is) he might as well do... Something! He gets as far as logging into his email and opening up a blank composition page, before it occurs to him that he can't email a girl whose name he doesn't even know, let alone her email address. It's not a service for messaging someone he doesn't know.

John clicks around the net for a while, checking his usual news sites (bluh) and his humor sites (ugh), and is about half a second from starting to browse for porn when he somehow thinks to open craigslist. He could post a personal ad. "Looking for a leggy blonde for fun and maybe more. Must be okay with workaholic tendencies and a desire to pretend you are a mystery girl with name unknown." 

Wow no one would ever reply to him. Even if he doesn't post it sounding like a crazy person, he'll seem crazy once anyone agrees to go on a date with him.

He's staring glumly at the screen, making a face at himself and how low he's come to stoop all in the span of no more than twelve hours, when he sees the link for "missed connections." Only losers post to "missed connections," of course. Only losers and horndogs use craigslist to meet people at all, but that is not the point. The point is that the only people browsing "missed connections" are crazy people, so even if his mystery lady happened to see a post he happened to make, it would mean she was crazy and that he would have been better off not finding her again at all. 

He's already opened a window to write his post. It's too late. He's lost the ability to turn back now.

If only crazy people browse "missed connections," it means it can't hurt to try, because no one who matters is going to see anything he writes at all. He types into the box, halting a little, deliberating over his words and his description and trying to remember the pattern on her messenger bag because every detail counts.

The "You wanna do some international studies with me?" is meant as a joke, but the "I think you'll like the accent..." pours out of his fingers before he can think better of it, and oops, it looks like the listing has been posted before he can edit himself. Funny how these things happen.

Before he can start beating himself up or second-guessing, John logs off, and shuts down his computer. 

-

John doesn't see his mystery girl on his walk to work.

He checks his email once he arrives, though, to the mystifying greeting of one new inbox message. It's from the craigslist address. He's so taken by surprise he almost doesn't open it.

"i might be the person who youre looking for  
cant say for sure since i caught neither hide nor hair of you on our fateful non-meeting  
you mustve been a stealthy customer walking after me  
i have highly acute hearing ill have you know

tell me about the accent  
thats what stands a chance of sealing the deal here"

John's first thought is, this person really needs to buy some punctuation, does the Wheel of Fortune crew sell apostrophes with their vowels? His second thought is, holy shit someone wrote to him! Someone wrote to him and it stands a good chance of being his mystery girl!

Hell, even if it isn't the mystery girl, this is still almost definitely a real human female writing an email to him, and that's more than he had yesterday. 

He grins a little awkwardly to himself, unsure whether he regrets the comment about an accent. It's nothing exotic, not like French or, he doesn't know, maybe Russian. Actually, it's kind of lying, because when he's speaking English it's with a little Seattle flavor, and that's not so different from how everyone talks around the nation's capital, not really. It's only when he's speaking Korean, like he used to with his Nanna, that the flavor of the exotic deigns to permeate his speech.

He thinks it's just an ideological thing, anyway. He doesn't have an accent at all, he just knows how to speak in words that sometimes sound strange, meaningless. Foreign. Most of the time, it's not really a plus. 

"i don't know, maybe i was! i was just trying to catch up to you before i lost you. bluh, even with my best efforts it turned out that i was too late. but i'm talking to you now, i guess! so everything was alright in the end.

there isn't much to tell.  
but i could teach you a few cool words in another language, if you'd like! 

i work in dc, so we could even have lunch some day this week. i mean, if you want to."

John makes sure to send the email, again, before he can self-edit or think too much about it. He could have a date with a girl. He could go on his first real date, that wasn't a clumsy hookup in a bar while out with friends, or an awkward one-night stand, in actual years. 

He has no idea how his college life shaped up the way that it did. 

He gets to work, busying himself so he won't obsess over when, when, when his mystery girl is going to email him back. God, she might be working too. It won't help anything for him to be impatient.

-

John's mystery girl doesn't email him back that day. He checks his email right before bed, after staying up far too late on a weeknight watching both Ghostbusters movies back to back. There's no luck.

She doesn't email him the next day, either, and that's not even a full forty-eight hours of waiting, but already he's starting to feel like he did something wrong. She saw the craigslist posting so quickly. Was he too forward? Should he have chatted back and forth first, before suggesting that they could have lunch? What even was proper online flirting conduct? 

It's most of the way through the day on Friday, barely half an hour before John plans to pack up, when he at last gets another email. 

"yeah sure lets do this  
im always down for good food and good company with the food  
cant really do it this week though  
if that wasnt totally obvious  
looks like the week is all used up can i issue a complimentary rain check  
we have no more week in at this time but well get another delivery shortly  
how does monday sound

i bet youre the gentlemanly type and youll even offer to pay  
does that mean you also have a restaurant all picked out in your head already that you can suggest to little old me?"

John is laughing to himself before he's halfway done reading, so that he has to self-consciously clamp one of his hands over his mouth. He is still at work, and he does want to avoid disturbing – or alerting – his coworkers. His mystery girl has a really unique way of speaking, beyond the drastic eschewing of punctuation. It's very stream-of-consciousness, with a little bit of tongue-in-cheek. He wonders if she talks that way in person, too, or if it's entirely a writing quirk. 

He's so excited already he can't even help himself in writing back. 

"monday sounds great! i don't know this area all that well yet, but you are right. i am definitely a gentleman. i am so gentlemanly that this is me, opening up google, and looking up restaurants we can both walk to.

how do you feel about italian?"

He tells himself that the little bubble of nervousness he feels is just the faint worry that she won't write back in time. But they have the whole weekend, and he is not going to stress out over it. He is going to have a lunch date and no one is going to stop him. 

-

John checks his email Saturday morning, and his face breaks into a huge grin.

"italian is great  
im not a cheap date though  
i expect full table service complete with pulling out my chair and telling me i look pretty  
and then i expect you to buy me dessert  
we can even share if youre counting calories

how will i know that its you"

Yeah, sure, whatever, she's kind of pushing him around and insisting he pay for stuff and maybe that should be a turn-off. But he can't help thinking that she sounds just the littlest bit _nervous. _It's kind of the cutest thing!__

__His fingers fly over the keys to his keyboard, and he can't help thinking that it's a cheerful sound, a busy clacking away that fills him with a warm sense of purpose and fulfillment._ _

__ "i'll even tuck your napkin into your collar if you really want me to. uh. i don't know, i mean, i'm about 5' 6" with dark hair and glasses. i could wear something special though?  _ _

__ i have this nice bowtie with a really subtle houndstooth pattern. bowties are cool, right?" _ _

__The reply John gets in return comes within the hour._ _

____ "bowties are totally cool  
thats perfect  
your taste is perfect  
now i dont even have to consider standing you up if i see you and it turns out youre too much of a dork for me to be seen eating with  
anyone who acknowledges that bowties are the superior neck adornment has one automatic pass

__ ill see you on monday  
noon sounds good?" _ _

__John doesn't even bat an eye at the threat of his date turning around and leaving when she sees him. She thinks he's cool, and he thinks she's funny, and this is going to be great._ _

____ "noon is perfect!  
i'll make the reservation right away.  
see you on monday. :)"

__He's so excited. Jade would probably think it was disgusting._ _

__(She'd punch him on the shoulder, and tell him he's a huge dorky goober, and then she'd punch him again and tell him she's so proud of him, and give him a huge tight hug, and wow he misses his cousin so much. But he's going on a date, and he's going to make her proud.)_ _

__-_ _

__John straightens his bowtie, before he leaves the office._ _

__The job is important enough that he has dressed nice for the entire (short) time he's been working there, but nice for the office has always meant a collared button-up shirt, no tie. The bit of neck adornment is out of the ordinary enough that his coworkers have all taken notice. Even if no one asks him about his upgrade, the knowing look or two he thinks he's gotten have been very telling._ _

__He runs a hand through his hair for good measure, but it all just falls back into the exact position it was in before. At least he can say that he tried. Feeling as presentable as he's going to be without a complete makeover and maybe a personality overhaul, he heads out. He got his date's number, and has texted her the address, so unless he's ungodly early she may even be waiting for him._ _

__She's standing just inside the door, when John opens it, wearing a trimly tailored black pea coat and a different knitted hat, this time in chunky purple. The aviator shades are still on her face, when she turns and looks at him, though the scarf tied around her throat is a wispier, more transparent number, that John thinks must not keep her very warm at all._ _

__"Hey!" he says, cheerfully, taking a moment to push up his sleeve and look at his watch. They're early. He doesn't care at all._ _

__"Hey," she says back._ _

__Her voice is deeper than John was expecting. Her shoulders are so wide in her coat, and the waist so narrow; it gives her the prettiest triangle shape to her torso. She's wearing a long purple skirt, printed with an indeterminate dark pattern and possessed of so much fabric that it swirls amply around her calves. This time her leggings are purple. They're nearly ultraviolet._ _

__"Let's go see if they'll seat us, yeah?" John says._ _

__They both walk up to the maitre d' and John gives his name, at which point they are neatly escorted to a cozy table for two, their waters poured and menus placed in front of them._ _

__"You look really nice," John says, nervously, like the words are just falling out of his mouth. He opens up his menu._ _

__God, how does anyone even talk to pretty girls._ _

__"Thanks," she says, dry but not unkind. "I didn't know how you'd pull it off, but I'm digging the bowtie. Way to rock it."_ _

__John smiles a little, sheepish, and is glad he isn't prone to blushing. He still takes compliments like absolute shit. "I do my best. And every gentleman needs some kind of necktie, right? My dad would have a coronary if anyone didn't and dared to try and use the name."_ _

__Oh god. He's not ten minutes into his first date in forever and already he's bringing up his dad. Abort, abort, flirting must be too much for him, the mission is already shaping up as a bust._ _

__She grins back at him a little, a crooked one-side-of-the-mouth upward turn to her lips. "You sure you still get to call yourself a gentleman? I thought you were gonna pull out my chair."_ _

__"Oh my god," John blurts. "I would have if you stood beside it, bluh, I totally forgot! It doesn't look like you had so much trouble with it, though. Maybe I'll do it next time."_ _

__"Who says you get a next time?" she asks. Then, before he can say anything, "Kidding. I kid."_ _

__John bristles a little, on principle, and makes a point of reading down the menu for something to order. Even while he's looking at the page, he can see her in his peripheral vision, and that little subtle-smile is still there._ _

__When the waiter comes, they're both ready, ordering their respective pastas. John is a little impressed, despite knowing it's dumb and he shouldn't be, that she orders something heavy-cream, heavy-carbs, rather than... He doesn't know, a dressing-free salad. He's already thinking about his not-insignificant culinary skills, and how much he'd like to cook for someone._ _

__"Do you ask a lot of... A lot of girls out, this way?" she asks him, once the waiter has left._ _

__"Not really," John says. "I mean, I've never done it before? I was just really mad that I missed you when I wanted to talk to you, and even though it was a long shot I thought I would give it a try. I'm still surprised it worked."_ _

__"That's funny," she says, and doesn't immediately elaborate._ _

__John thinks he can see her biting her tongue, and remembers how she talks in emails. Giving short, pithy responses must take absolutely all of her self control. Wow, it's... Really weirdly cute?_ _

__"I'm glad you emailed me," he says, earnestly. "I'm really happy, to go out, and get lunch on my lunch break, and to eat it with a pretty girl."_ _

__He thinks she swallows, though it's hard to tell. She still has her delicate little neck scarf on, though the hat and coat have come off. And, he realizes at much length, she's still wearing her sunglasses, even in the restaurant._ _

__"Thanks," she says, at just enough length for John to notice. "I almost thought you were going to forget to tell me I'm pretty, too."_ _

__There's something weird about the way she says it, but John doesn't quite know how to place it. He reaches for the bread basket on the table, tears into a round of baguette and sticks a bite-sized piece right in his mouth._ _

__"So what can you teach me to say in another language, senpai?" she asks. "I thought that was the proposition."_ _

__"Not Japanese," John sniffs, more disdainfully than he might have meant. "I'm Korean."_ _

__"Teach me how to say 'senpai' in Korean."_ _

__John snorts, not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. "Fine, whatever. I can teach you how to say 'teacher' in Korean if you want, because you got the meme wrong, and then you can call me that even though it's awful."_ _

__"I'll do it because it's awful," she tells him._ _

__He's shaking his head, amused despite himself, when the food abruptly comes and is placed before them. For a handful of minutes, they're both on the quieter side, forks moving between plates and mouths, though John does offer a few helpful basic Korean words between bites. They're all stupid, awful things. He's starting to think his date has awful taste. (He still likes her.)_ _

__At some point during their meal, he notices the ankle sliding up against the inside of his leg, and he has absolutely no idea what to do about it. It doesn't progress very far, simply tracing up and down the inside of his calf, sheer stockings dragging easily against his new dress pants, before she again pulls her leg back and away._ _

__He guesses he's doing pretty alright at flirting, then, if she wants to play that game._ _

__"What do you want for dessert?" she asks, once they've finished their entrees. "You're splitting with me, it's romantic and shit and I'm going to accept nothing less than the most romantic of lunch dates."_ _

__"You're still hungry?" John asks, a little bit incredulous._ _

__"John," she says, with an air of great patience. "I told you I was going to want dessert. It is an iron-clad rule of taking me out for a meal. It is a rule you will not question, because you're coming really fucking close to calling a girl fat, and no guy wants to call a girl fat."_ _

__John sticks his tongue out at her, the epitome of maturity._ _

__"I don't really want dessert," he adds, after pulling it back into his mouth. "Maybe you're still hungry, but I'm stuffed. And I don't like sweets that much anyway."_ _

__"You don't... Like... I'm sorry, I watched your mouth move, and I heard words come out of it, but to my knowledge nothing of value was spoken. Come again? I must have missed what you were trying to say."_ _

__"Oh shut up! Some people just do not like sweets, and that is perfectly okay. I will not shame you for having three stomachs and enjoying fancy desserts with lunch, but only if you don't shame me for not wanting to eat a slice of cake, or pie, or whatever it is they have for dessert."_ _

__"I'm getting tiramisu," she says._ _

__John has the distinct impression that she didn't listen to a single word he just said. He also realizes, dimly, with the warm feeling of hearing his name roll off her tongue still lingering happily in the pit of his stomach, that he at no point bothered to ask her for her name. Not over the course of emailing, and not at any point during their lunchtime conversation. He texted her, but didn't add her number to his phone, had simply bypassed even thinking about what to add it in as._ _

__It feels kind of weird, and they're so far into the date that now he doesn't know how to ask._ _

__The waiter brings her dessert in a timely manner, which is good. John is having such a nice time but he's starting to feel guilty and self-conscious, and his lunch hour is only meant to be so long, which has him worried that he's overstaying what he's able. It's an internship, yeah, but it's such a good job, and he is unwilling to think about being given a poor review for something as dumb as tardiness after a break._ _

__She makes a point of eating her dessert with as much fanfare as possible, making soft little moans and licking the spoon perfectly clean in between bites. John groans audibly back at her, and she smirks, her scarf drooping lower on her neck under pointed chin. She never took off the shades. John suspects he honestly doesn't care any more._ _

__"You're impossible," he tells her._ _

__"Nah, I'm the best, and this tiramisu is to die for," she says right back. "It's the perfect amount of light and coffee-rich and you can just barely taste the liqueur. Perfect. Are you sure you don't want a bite?"_ _

__"Positive," John insists, stubborn._ _

__He's still watching her eat it, and his refusal is by no means even a little bit due to the understanding that if he eats any of her dessert, that's less bites to watch her lick off a shiny, diminutive dessert spoon with pointed tip of agile tongue. Now he's the one swallowing, and he doesn't even have a good excuse._ _

__John asks for the check when he catches sight of their waiter, tucking in precise payment in crisp bills as his date finishes off the last of her dessert. She licks the spoon a few more times, apparently for good measure, because John can't see a single speck of cake or cream left on its surface._ _

__"You're kind of dumb, aren't you?" she asks him._ _

__It sounds so conversational, it takes a moment for John to even think about it enough to consider getting offended. "Wow, rude," he says. "Do you insult all your dates that way?"_ _

__She grins at him, unrepentant, and he should be mad, probably, but he still likes her anyway. She's charming, in an irreverent kind of way, and even over banal first date conversation about their jobs, and little mundane details of their respective existences, he feels like he's caught enough personality, enough cleverness, to really endear her to him. He's not mad because something about even her up-front insult is unexpectedly charming._ _

__"I mean what I said," she continues. "Oh, you're smart and all, don't get me wrong. Your intelligence in standard terms knows no shameful bounds. But you're also pretty dense, and dumb as a box of rocks. Just saying."_ _

__"Rude," John says. "So rude. I should walk out right now, and take my money with me. And then you'll be stuck with the check and you'll have to be the gentleman about it, because the only choice will be you paying for me."_ _

__She just snorts, all the louder, like John just told an especially funny joke. "Do you still want to kiss me?" she asks, just as blunt, a complete change of topic as far as John can see._ _

__He could lie. It would serve her right! But he doesn't want to lie, and the truthful answer is, more than anything, so much more ever since she started all of the tongue-on-spoon action. He doesn't like cake much, but he wants to taste the coffee and the cream on her lips. "Yeah, sure, maybe. But it is in spite of your poor manners, and not because of them. I am not encouraging you!"_ _

__She grins at him, quick and secretive, and hooks her first finger behind the knot of his bowtie. It curls, familiar and intimate, against his throat for a second, before she pulls him forward and brings his mouth in range. Her lips are a little rougher than he's expecting, but she does taste faintly sweet, especially when her lips part from the initial soft-mouthed kiss, and she darts her tongue out to trace behind his teeth._ _

__"You're still kind of an idiot," she says, when she pulls away. "I don't know how this always happens to me. I always get the dumb ones. It's like I've got a sign on me that reads 'willing to smooch all comers, but only if your IQ is lower than your body temperature.'"_ _

__"Hey!" John yelps._ _

__"Come on," she says. "I mean, I thought it was a funny joke and all, but how fun can it really be if I never let you in on the secret?"_ _

__"Uh?" John says. He is, at last, beginning to grasp that maybe there's something going on with this conversation besides his date being a jerk, and that maybe there's something he missed._ _

__"You know, I never even got to make up a pretty name," his mystery date laments to him. "You totally never asked me, and I was nine kinds of prepared, with all sorts of delicate and proper monikers. I was maybe going to cold-read you, even, see if I could get inside that head of yours and pull out just the name you wanted to hear."_ _

__John stares, slowly putting the words together into actual meaning._ _

__His date thrusts a hand across the table, thumb up and palm out, like one would for a shake. "Dave Strider, nice t'meet ya formally, not actually a chick but I play a hell of a damsel on TV. Disclaimer, I don't actually play any ladies on TV, I'm starting to think you might be gullible enough to take me at my word. Which you should, my word is the shit and always right. But you know. I'm not a girl."_ _

__"Uh," John says again. That's kind of all he's got._ _

__"No second date then?" Dave asks, bright and chipper._ _

__"Oh my god you're such an asshole!" John exclaims. It is literally the only thing entering his head._ _

__"That sounds like no second date."_ _

__"Shut up," John tells him. "You are a jerk and you don't get to make jokes right now. You are way too pretty to be a boy, and also what were you even wearing a skirt for? What are you wearing a skirt for right now? Why would you do that, don't your legs almost freeze off without pants on?"_ _

__Dave stares at him for a moment, and then proceeds to crack up into little helpless chuckles, a few of which he bothers to hide in his hand when they don't stop within the first couple seconds. "That's really what you're thinking about. That I'm cold. You're worried that my clothing choices aren't weather-appropriate. That is actually fucking rich, John, that is the richest thing I've heard in a long time, and I read the menu listing for that tiramisu."_ _

__The fact that his date is (no longer? not actually?) a girl makes John think it would not be inappropriate to punch him on the arm. Really hard. He deserves a hard arm-punch, the likes of which usually only Jade can give._ _

__"You called me pretty again," Dave points out, abruptly, like he's crowing over it._ _

__John is going to smack him in his increasingly punchable-looking face. (Or kiss him on it. He is remarkably continuing to be no less attracted to his date. His date has a really cute mouth, and happens to be a very good kisser.)_ _

__"Why were you wearing a skirt?" John asks again, with exaggerated patience._ _

__"Oh that," Dave says. "I don't know. I guess I thought it was funny. I wasn't going to do the lovely ladylocks thing at work, it just kind of happened. Do you have any idea how far up their single collective asshole every single person I work with has crammed their assorted heads? It's like nobody there actually sees anything that passes under their noses, unless it's business. I guess I wanted to see if they'd sit up and notice."_ _

__"And did they?" John asks, bizarrely fascinated._ _

__"Nah, not really," Dave says. "No one gave much of a shit. But I look damn good, so who even cares."_ _

__"What the hell," John says._ _

__"Yeah, I don't even know," Dave agrees. "Normally I'd pretend I have a master plan and I'm holding all the cards and don't look now, but there's a painstaking overarching schema in place with an explanation for every occurrence. Except not really. I just like tights. I mean, come on, tell me these aren't great."_ _

__He sticks his leg out past the edge of the table, twisting his ankle expertly to show off the neon purple._ _

__"You could flag down traffic with those," John accedes._ _

__"I'm taking that as a compliment," Dave says._ _

__"You're still a real, actual asshole," John reminds him._ _

__"I know," Dave says. "But you still want to go on a second date with me."_ _

__He says it cockily, like there's no possible chance John could ever deny the bone-deep truth of those words. But John is watching him, avidly, and he can pick up on the way Dave's chin tilts slightly down, and his face leans just the littlest bit to one side, like he's not quite looking at John. Not even from behind his impenetrable shades._ _

__"Maybe," John says. "But you'll have to tell me what's up with the stupid sunglasses."_ _

__"Nothing is up with the stupid sunglasses," Dave protests. "And that's because these sunglasses are amazing. Bona fide solid cool, it's like, if you condensed all the coolness of the antarctic into a wafer-thin sheet of awesome, and then tailored it into something fit to be used, it would be these shades. These shades are the best, the end, all dissenters go home because they're wrong."_ _

__"Whatever," John says. "They're still kind of dumb and they hide half your face. And you should take them off inside buildings."_ _

__"Maybe next time," Dave says. "If you're good."_ _

__"Who says you get a next time?" John says. "You didn't even pull out my chair for me."_ _

__"Wow John," Dave says. "Cold. You didn't even ask. At least I asked."_ _

__"Fine, whatever, you're dumb and you don't know how to ask anybody on a date. That's why I had to do it on craigslist."_ _

__"That's all you, dude. I take no responsibility for the means by which you chose to contact me."_ _

__"Shut up," John says, casually. He kind of thinks they've gotten douchier to each other since he realized Dave isn't a girl (he does have very wide shoulders, and very narrow hips, so that it seems obvious after the fact; Dave is right, he's so dumb), but he doesn't care. Hell, it's probably just fighting fair, and it's _fun._ "We can get lunch again. But you get to pay next time. I am not going to be your sugar daddy!"_ _

__"Are you sure?" Dave asks. "Because I mean, it's not like you don't look cut out for the job. That bowtie is fly as hell, and those biceps. Ay, papi."_ _

__"Oh my god," John says._ _

__"Kidding, kidding," Dave assures him. "Come on, let's not wear out our welcome."_ _

__John gets up from the table, still almost-laughing and shaking his head a little and feeling way too happy for it to even be legal. They walk outside together, where Dave pulls his coat closed tight again, and yanks his hat down close around his ears. He hunches in on himself a little, bundled securely, and John still thinks he looks cold in the winter air. Maybe he's not so used to DC, either. Bony, skinny (attractively leggy, look at those nice calves, those calves are not even a little bit less nice at all) thing that he is._ _

__"I'll text you," John says._ _

__"Yeah," Dave agrees. "I'll hit you back. Mark my words, you're never hearing the end of me."_ _

__John laughs, but he finds that he kind of believes it. Doesn't bother him at all, though. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Now that I know you're all talk, you're never going to win an argument ever."_ _

__Dave sticks out his tongue, a quick pointed flash. John wrinkles his nose, pulls Dave by the waist, and kisses him one more time. It's a harder, abrupt meeting of mouths, this time, fierce and pleased and not saying "goodbye" so much as "see you later."_ _

__When he starts to pull away, he falls back in once, leaving a second gentler kiss pressed to Dave's lips._ _

__"Text me," Dave says, stepping back._ _

__"Yeah, yeah," John says, starting to turn away, lifting his hand up to wave. "Don't bug me too much while I'm working."_ _

__"No promises."_ _

__As he walks, alone, back to his new workplace with the job he really does actually like, John thinks that it genuinely was a nice first date. The kind of date Jade would be proud of. He will, of course, studiously avoid telling her about it now, for as long as he can get away with. He knows if he lets word one slip, there will be no end of her bugging him about how he needs to make "that hot blond bombshell" (he imagines it in her voice, so awful for sexy things, that's his cousin how completely terrible) his boyfriend._ _

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End file.
